


Hold Me Now (Warm My Heart)

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coworkers to lovers, Fluff and Humor, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith is a bit emo, Lance is a bit insecure, M/M, Retail AU, Shiro tells a Dad joke, Slow Build, Slow Burn, brief mention of violence due to homophobia, but Pidge especially, but for the most part it is a very fluffy and sweet fic, gratuitous mentions of food, its bad enough to be tagged, just like voltron did, the smut is mild so I didnt tag as explicit but let me know if that needs to be changed I guess, they are all heavily caffeinated, they eat a lot so, this fic took over my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: “You’re sticking me with a newbie!?” Lance squawks. “Shiro, my guy, you must be joking. A newbie is going to triple my work tonight. I’ll be running around like crazy while trying to teach some slack-jaw to count by fives. I swear, if you…”“I’ll try not to slow you down too much.”Keith is a loner who’s had trouble keeping a job for longer than a couple of months. Lance is an exuberant flirt who gets on his last nerve in his latest workplace….and then, not so much. Just your typical slow build, getting together fic.Edited 5/14/17 for some embarrassing typos after I finally read this again with fresh eyes.





	Hold Me Now (Warm My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: what’s the most stressful, repetitious, monotonous, unnecessarily complicated, no-fun-allowed, TERRIBLE job that is also not AT ALL relatable???  
> Me: Working in a retail pharmacy  
> Me: sounds like a klance AU idea  
> Me: ….  
> Me: sure 
> 
> So, here’s the pharmacy au that no one has ever wanted and therefore no one has ever written. Until me, just now: (and it turned into a 16k beast)

 

Lance is dying.

 

He flashes the new customer who just appeared at the end of the line forming in front of the registers his most winning smile. “I’ll be right with you!” and adds yet another phone call to the two that are already blinking on hold. “Pharmacy, thanks for calling, you have two calls ahead of you, please hold!!” Hopefully whomever is on the other line can’t hear the panic in his voice. Or maybe, hopefully they can, so they know he’s ridiculously busy, have mercy on his soul, and call back later. When he’s dead. Because there’s no way he’s gonna be able to take much more of this without spontaneously combusting.

 

He sends a pleading look toward Pidge, who manages to shrug despite the phone cradled against their shoulder. Their fingers don’t stop typing, nor do their eyes stray from the screen, but they do lean back a bit as they inform him, “Nuh-uh. This is the third person they’ve transferred me to in this department. I’m not getting off this phone until I get a paid claim. You’re on your own.”

 

“Shiro should be back soon,” Allura mumbles without looking up. She’s hours behind in her own work, but more importantly,  the whole process would come grinding to a halt if she were to stop and help him.

 

So. Taking a deep breath, Lance logs into the register and smiles in a way that he hopes looks charming rather than on the edge of a meltdown. “Can I help who’s next in line?”

 

Eight minutes later-- eight long minutes later, in which the line at the register gets longer instead of shorter and another call gets put on hold-- Shiro clocks back in. He helps Lance with the next couple of people in line for pick-ups, then answers the phone calls, while simultaneously helping Pidge with the data-entry queue.

 

“You are never allowed to take a lunch again. Shiro, I’m serious. That was ridiculous. I almost died.” Lance whines as soon as the rush has cleared out. It’s amazing how everything calms down just by his presence in the pharmacy.

 

The sad thing is, actually, is that this isn’t ridiculous. Doing five things at once, with fewer people than you would have thought possible, and feeling like the end is nigh due to pure stress overload-- that’s a typical day in retail pharmacy. Rushes happen a few times a day in most retail settings and this place is no exception.

 

And, although Lance likes being dramatic, with a little over a year of experience as a pharmacy technician, he can pretty well handle his own. That doesn’t stop him from complaining to Shiro though, and he’s just about to launch into a particularly scathing analysis of the corporate greed that gets them this short staffed in the first place, when Shiro interrupts him:

 

“Well, you’ll hate me for this, then.” (There’s no way _anyone_ could hate Shiro, with his ultra calming presence, and chiseled jaw, and warm puppy-dog eyes). “We’ve got a new hire coming in today for his first shift, and unfortunately, after I’m off, it’ll be up to you to show him the ropes.”

 

“You’re sticking me with a newbie!?” Lance squawks. “Shiro, my guy, you must be joking. A newbie is going to _triple_ my work tonight. I’ll be running around like crazy while trying to teach some slack-jaw to count by fives. I swear, if you…”

 

“I’ll try not to slow you down too much.”

 

Lance turns, all set to tell the newbie a thing or two about what it’s like when you’re first starting out, but he chokes on the taunt as soon as he lays eyes on him.

 

He’s met with a guy just slightly shorter than him, wiry build, delicate features, dark hair against pale skin. Newbie is gorgeous, yeah, but it’s the slight upturn of amusement on his lips, coupled with an earnest look in serious eyes that has Lance at a loss for words.

 

“Keith! You’re here early!”

 

At Shiro’s greeting, Keith’s expression slides into something much softer as he turns toward him, and all Lance can think is: _shit_. _Shit!_  

 

Lance maintains this level of articulate-ness while Shiro directs Keith to their break room, to assign him a locker for his bag and _isthatamotorcyclehelmet? Seriously? Shit._ Keith gets settled and Shiro gives him a quick run-down of who’s who in the pharmacy before things start to get hectic again. Meanwhile, Lance takes the opportunity to re-focus on working and _definitely_ doesn’t continue to check Keith out while he’s not looking. Nope. No way. _Wait. Is that…..is that a mullet?_

 

“So I’m the lead technician.” Shiro starts. “We’re kind of like a factory, in a way, and I make sure everything stays moving through the process in the way that it should.

 

That’s Pidge,” he motions over to the figure hunched over the keyboard who pauses typing for a moment to wave and flash Keith a brief smile before returning to the task at hand. “They type all the prescriptions and handle the insurance problems. They also maintain our inventory, so we couldn’t function without their expertise.”

 

“Shiro, you flatter me.” Pidge adjusts their glasses. “But what he _really_ means, Keith, is don’t get on my bad side.”

 

Allura grins from across the pharmacy.  

 

“That’s Allura. She’s the pharmacist, so after we finish counting the prescription that Pidge has typed, she checks everything off and gets it ready to go out to the patient.” Shiro looks at her fondly. “That means that she’s pretty caught up in her own task, so it’s our job to help her out as much as possible with the phones and customers at the register and everything else.

 

And you’ve already met Lance.” Lance stops what he’s doing long enough to wink at Keith and give him the sassiest finger guns possible while simultaneously explaining how many refills a patient has remaining to a customer over the phone.

 

Shiro turns back towards Keith and gives him a quick clap on the shoulder. “It’s not the easiest job to pick up, but don’t worry, you’re part of a great team.”

 

\----

 

Keith is dying.

 

For reasons:

 1. Being in a pharmacy is stressful. Definitely a faster pace than any of his other jobs. The calls don’t stop, the process of filling a prescription is tedious, there’s all kinds of medical jargon to learn….and

 2. It’s still retail. Except here, people don’t just yell about coupons. Or stuff being out of stock. Or prices. They yell about all those things plus being out of refills. Or insurance. Or other things he never even thought about before working here. Plus, half the time they’re sick in addition to being cranky. And, well, customer service isn’t exactly Keith’s forte. It’s only been a couple weeks and already there have been multiple occasions where he’s had to bite his tongue and grit out a “ _Let me get the manager for you_ , Ma’am.”

 

But he’s a fast learner and is trying to develop a new philosophy: keep your head down and get shit done. Keeping to himself, getting by just fine with quiet observation and self reliance. When Shiro offered him this job, Keith knew it was an opportunity that he wouldn’t get so easily again. Especially considering his less than stellar work history…..so, he tells himself, he can’t let Shiro down by screwing this up. He can’t let himself down either. However,

 3. Lance.

 

The guy is somehow the exact opposite of Keith’s philosophy “keep your head down and get shit done.” He’s loud and seems to be constantly in motion-- from the minute he walks in the door, usually finishing a conversation on his cell phone, laughing way too loudly as he slips in a random, “nuh uh, you’re joking,” between rapid fire Spanish-- to the minute he leaves, quipping about thanking the pharmacy gods for another day of pure fun. He saunters around, talking with his hands, even while counting pills, the counting spatula jabbing the air for emphasis.

 

He flirts. Flirting seems to be a way of life for Lance, his main form of communication. Possibly his main hobby. It astounds Keith. The first time he heard one of his terrible pick up lines used on a customer (“hey baby, how do you feel about raisins?” [confused response] “well then, howbout a date?”) Keith wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground from secondhand embarrassment.

 

Completely undeterred, Lance seems to take rejection in stride, and chats up the next person with ever increasing amounts of gusto. (Notably, he seems to have no preference for one gender over another….? This initially mystifies Keith but he later decides it’s some cruel trick played by the universe that all should have to suffer equally under Lance’s terrible lines. But the worst pickup lines are always used on pretty girls with long hair. Poor Allura.)  

 

He knows all of their regulars and easily makes small talk, chatting by the register, asking things like ‘how is Micah doing after the surgery’ or ‘Did Lyssa have her baby yet?’ Keith has never been very good at making conversation, even with people he knows well...he’s amazed by Lance’s ability to effortlessly socialize. His inviting blue eyes, easy smile….it seems he was made to charm.

 

Even with new customers, Lance is quick to brighten their day, or diffuse a tense situation.

 

And he jokes. He teases Keith about his clothes. About his hair. He tells inside jokes that Keith doesn’t understand. Keith tries to ignore him, stay on task, frowning slightly when he doesn’t get the punchline. This usually worsens the situation, Lance will lock-on to his confused face, brows shooting up into his hairline as he laughingly tries to explain.

 

\-----

 

“Hunk, natural disaster, aisle twenty-five. Hunk, natural disaster, aisle twenty-five.” Lance pages over the store’s loud speaker, during an unusually slow evening.

 

A couple of minutes later, Hunk walks up to the pharmacy. It must be slow up front too. “Lance, there’s only twenty aisles.”

 

“Did you not feel that earthquake, Hunk?” Lance drawls, “Oh wait, it must just be that you rocked my world.”

 

Hunk groans. “Lance, that was terrible. Even for you.”

 

“No seriously, dude, I’m talking about those brownies in the breakroom? Mind. Blown.”

 

Hunk perks up immediately. “Yeah? I made the caramel in them from scratch.”

 

Lance sighs and continues to wax poetic about the combination of caramel and chocolate ganache. “Hunk, have I ever told you that you’re the light of my life?”

 

“Not since this morning.”

 

At Keith’s clearly confused expression, Hunk motions between them. “Roommates,” he explains. “This morning, his keys were lost. Again.”

 

“No one finds keys like Hunk does. Hey, Mulletman, listen to this, so, one time...” Lance is about to start what will probably would have been a pointlessly long anecdote, but Allura cuts him off before he can get going. (One of her numerous talents). “Lance, less talking, more pharmacy-ing.”

 

“Ah~” Lance does an exaggerated shiver. “I love a woman who can put me in my place.” He waggles his brows at Allura, who is very clearly ignoring him. “Not that I’d be opposed to _your_ place, babe.”

 

“Can one of you please just answer the phone?” Allura implores, as it rings for the fourth time.

 

Keith answers and immediately regrets this decision. “Pharmacy, how can I help you?”

 

After admonishing him for not using his name when he answered the phone, a cranky old woman proceeds to cross-examine him about which medicines she has ready to be picked-up.

The names of the drugs are difficult to pronounce and Keith stumbles over them, which makes the old woman irritable, and he doesn’t know what they’re used for, so he has to keep putting her on-hold to ask Allura, which makes the old woman downright irate.

 

“Do you even work there? You have no idea what you’re talking about! Who’s the pharmacist right now, I want to talk to them!! Who’s working, is Shiro there, Shiro knows me…” the woman begins to rant, shouting directly into Keith’s ear….meanwhile Lance, who’s been listening in, cracking up as Keith struggles, motions to him, a silent, _give me the phone_.

 

Lance slides the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can talk while he counts pills at the same time. “Hi, Mrs. Haggar, how are you tonight? Oh, this is Lance. Nice to talk to you too! Uh-huh. Yeah. Mmmhmm, that’s what ready. Yep, for blood pressure. Yes ma’am. Oh, just now? That was our newbie,” he winks at Keith, switches the phone to his other shoulder, still counting, “Oh no. He didn’t? Oh dear. Yes ma’am. Don’t worry, I’ll train him up right. Mhmm. You bet. You have a good night. Thank you.”

 

“And that, Mulletman, is how it’s done.”

 

Keith is fuming.

 

\----

 

“Good morning, my beautiful cogs in this big, bad corporate machine~” Lance strides into the pharmacy for his 11-7 shift, armed with enough coffee and exuberance for the whole team.

 

“Shiro, nonfat chai with almond milk,” he begins, passing them out. “Pidge, hazelnut latte with two extra shots,” They give him a beaming thumbs up before reaching for the coffee like they’ve haven’t had anything to drink in days (not true-- they toss their triple from this morning in the trash and start working on the new one immediately). Lance shakes his head, “I swear one day you’re gonna short circuit, for real. For the gorgeous Allura, iced caramel macch, extra whip, extra caramel. And _java chips_.”

 

She sucks in a breath. “You had them add java chips?? Now I remember why I keep you around.” Allura swipes her finger through the whipped cream and sighs in contentment.

 

“Awww, Princess, you’re too kind.”

 

He turns to Keith. “Mulletman, you haven’t been here long enough for me to know your drink order, so I just got you same as me: Americano over ice with a splash of cream. Hope it’s cool.”

 

Keith looks up from where he’s counting, surprised to be included.“....Thanks,” he murmurs, pressing the straw through the lid. He sips cautiously.  “It’s good,” he confirms.

 

“Chill.” Lance grins at him before turning to the nearest computer terminal, rubbing his hands together. “So what’s the mess look like today?”

 

\----

 

Keith clocks out later that afternoon, but instead of heading straight for the door, he wavers. He’s long since finished the iced coffee, but he still has the cup in his hand, and he fiddles with the straw as he waits in line at the register Lance is currently working.

 

Lance finishes up with the customer before Keith (“Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Montgomery!”). His grin gets a little sloppier when he sees that the next person in line is Keith, but he greets him brightly, “How may I help you today, sir?”

 

Keith fidgets, uncertain of what to say.

 

He decides on: “How much do I owe you for the coffee?” while reaching for his wallet, uncertain.

 

Lance’s voice slides back into his normal register (the non-customer-service-version), “Nah, don’t worry about paying me back!!” He waves Keith’s wallet away.

 

“Are you sure?” Keith shifts his weight on his feet. It makes him feel funny to accept something for nothing. He’s not used to favors.

 

“Mmhmm. My treat.” Lance confirms. “Aren’t you off the clock? Run away, save yourself from this place while you have the chance!”

 

“Okay.” Keith tugs at his hair, swiping it behind his ear on one side. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

 

Lance looks torn, like he wants to say something else, but decides against it. “No problem Keitharino. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

It would probably be a small interaction to anyone else, but the troubled look Lance had on his face gets underneath Keith’s skin. It takes a conscious effort to push it to the back of his mind during his drive to the gym, throughout his workout, and while he eats dinner in front of his laptop. As soon as he tries to sleep, it comes back in vivid detail, replaying over and over in his mind, each time more excruciating than the last. The quirk of Lance’s smile, the flash of confusion that crossed his face when Keith moved to pull out his wallet. He groans, rolling to one side. _That was awkward. It must’ve been weird to try to pay him back. It wasn’t_ A Thing _but I made it into_ A Thing _. Ughhhh._

 

He glares at the empty plastic cup on his nightstand. Stupid drink. Stupid Lance. Didn’t they constantly bicker? What’s he doing buying Keith coffee, like it’s nothing?

 

Lance is attractive. It’s pointless to deny it. He objectively is-- with his cheeky exuberance, his personality alone breathes life into the room. Expressive eyebrows, supple mouth, tall lanky figure. Most of the time his attractiveness is easy enough to ignore, considering how the guy seems to have made it his personal mission to torment Keith. And, no matter how cute he is, the guy is a jerk. Most of the time. Except for when he buys Keith coffee. Or teaches him something and is unexpectedly patient, leaning over on the counter, cheek resting on his hand as he looks up at Keith like he’s the whole world.

 

And sometimes, he helps one of their older customers and is so kind it’s painful to watch. Or he beams at the children who occasionally come in, expression brilliant as he kneels down to their level for conversation. He always chats about his family after times like that, his grandmother and little brothers and sisters and cousins...everyone in the pharmacy knows the names of Lance’s family because he just won’t shut up about them. It should be annoying but instead, it’s just endearing.

 

So he’s a jerk, who just happens to be very good-looking. Except for when he’s not a jerk. And then he’s just….cute.

 

\---

 

First of the month. A Monday. And, to top it off, a full moon. The holy trifecta of Bad Days To Work in a Pharmacy.

 

It is a Mess. With a capital “M.” The five o’clock rush is barely begun, and every single queue is in the red. Hours behind, everyone is scrambling to get back on track, but it’s a losing battle. The phones are ringing off the hook, the prescriptions just keep rolling in, and patient after patient brings in problem after problem.

 

 _For fuck’s sake, can_ one _thing just go smoothly_ , Lance inwardly curses as a middle-aged man with an obvious stick up his ass starts griping that his script is _never_ billed properly and _why_ does he even _come_ to this pharmacy since they _clearly_ don’t know what they’re doing?

 

“Sorry about that, sir,” Lance chirps, emphasis on the “sir,” (code for “jackass” in the land of retail). “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll call your insurance right now and see if I can get the billing information sorted out for you?”

 

He calls, gets it figured out. Not a big deal, really, if there weren’t a million other things he was trying to get done at the same time. He’s just about to ask Allura to finish it up for him, so that they can get Mr. Why-Do-I-Even-Come-Here out of the store, when she picks up a line that’s been specifically on hold for her.

 

“Thanks for holding, sorry about your wait, thisisthepharmacisthowcanIhelpyou.” She wheezes out, reaching for her prescription pad with one hand, pulling a pen out of the bun on top of her head with the other. But it’s not a doctor calling in a new script, evidently:

 

“Mhmm. Oh? Oh. That’s not…..? No. Not particularly. Are you certain? Then. No, we’ll have to discuss this later. Yes….oh, I’m sure.’’

 

She sets the phone down, deadly quiet. Lance blanches. Allura doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s terrifying.

 

“That didn’t sound great…?,” he ventures.

 

“Nyma just called off.”

 

Lance breathes out a low curse. She was supposed to work the closing shift with him. Well. There goes his night.

 

Shiro looks up from where he’s working, “That’ll be her third offense this month alone.” He hates to fire people, but if you’re not reliable enough to show up for your shifts….

 

Lance sighs. “She’s so cute when she’s not being the worst though.”

 

Shiro begins discussing with Allura. He’s been there since they opened this morning, but he’ll take a quick break, just long enough to grab something to eat, and then he’ll stay with her and Lance until close, to make up for Nyma’s shift. Allura shakes her head. He’ll go into overtime if he does that, and the higher ups will have a _cow_ if they see any overtime. No exceptions. Shiro argues, he’ll clock out and work for free then, he can’t just leave her with only one technician on a Monday night. And the first of the month. Allura refuses, she cannot allow one of her techs to...

 

Keith pipes in, unexpected. “I can stay.” Allura and Shiro both look at him. “I don’t mind staying if you need somebody. And I’m nowhere close to going into overtime.”

 

Allura doesn’t need to be told twice. She heaves a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Keith, you just saved the night.”

 

It’s rough. It only seems to get worse after Shio and Pidge leave and it’s just the two of them left to manage everything. People keep coming and their prescriptions aren’t ready, which makes them angry, which causes more problems, which makes them fall further behind in their work...

 

Keith tells him: “If you take care of the phones and the customers at the front, I’ll get everything counted.”

 

Lance looks at the queue dubiously. “Mulletman...there’s over a hundred scripts here….you can’t…”

 

“I’ll get it done.”

 

They finally get a lull around nine. Lance drapes himself over Keith, in awe at the clear queue. “Dude, I can’t believe Mr. Face-Stuck-in-a-Constant-Frown and I-have-terrible-hair-from-the-80s is a faster counter than me.”

 

Keith smirks at him, replies drily, “If that’s supposed to be me, then I can understand why. You haven’t been paying attention, Lance.”

 

Lance doesn’t have a response for that besides the blush that’s threatening to creep down from his ears, so he turns to Allura, “Princess, you think you’re gonna be able to finish all this up alright?”

 

“Oh that?” She flexes her biceps for show. “I can check that in a tick. What kind of pharmacist do you think you’re working with?”

 

Lance gives Allura a thumbs up.

 

Lance elbows Keith lightly as they leave for the night, “Hey Keith, I noticed this,” he smiles, “we make a good team.”

 

\----

 

Thirty minutes. His lunch break is only thirty minutes, but Keith tries to make the most of it. Thirty minutes without phone calls, without rushing, without shouting “we’ll be right with you!” at customers who are already cranky. If you subtract the time it takes to go to the bathroom and heat up leftovers in the ancient microwave, it’s closer to twenty-six minutes. Keith purposely ignores the suspicious orange-y spots encrusted inside as he pokes in a cooking time on the grimy display.

 

Honestly the rest of the break room is also…..not great. Kinda depressing actually. Crammed in between the row of lockers and the mini fridge that always smells a bit off (Coran, the store manager, brings in the weirdest food….) is a dingy little table and a folding chair.

 

But, Keith considers, pulling his now lukewarm pasta out of the microwave, it’s a job.

 

Keith sits slouched over the table, with one leg folded up so that he can rest his cheek against his knee between bites. He raises the hand holding his fork in greeting as someone comes in the breakroom. They sigh. Keith looks up from scrolling through his phone to see Lance closing his locker. Keith gives him a nod and tries to return to his lunch.

 

“That position cannot be good for digestion.” Lance chides, wagging a disapproving finger.

 

“You haven’t even clocked-in and you’re already gonna start. Great.” Keith sets down his tupperware of what looks like leftover chef boyardee, and straightens up in his chair, resigned.

 

“Babe, this is on the house.” He peers over Keith’s shoulder. “Keithy boy, what-in-the-name-of-all-that-is-holy are you eating??” He sniffs it and makes a face.

 

“My. Lunch.”

 

“Please don’t tell me that came out of a can.”

 

Keith throws his arms up in exasperation. “I’m sorry my lunch isn’t up to standards Lance! I guess you beat me there too, huh!”

 

Lance gets a funny look on his face for a moment. He sits on the edge of the table.  “Well, technically, no. But Hunk’s an amazing cook so I guess I’m spoiled.”

 

Keith shrugs like he doesn’t know what to do with this information. “Good for you?”

 

Lance taps his fingers against his mouth as though he’s deep in thought. He snaps like he’s just been hit with pure brilliance: “Hey! I know! Come over for dinner!” Lance lightly smacks the table in between them for emphasis. “Tonight Hunk is making lasagna!”

 

Well, this is unexpected. It’s true they’ve been getting along better at work, ever since the night they closed together, and Keith is grateful for that, but going from amicable coworkers to friends-who-hang-out-in-each-other’s apartment….that’s a pretty big jump.

 

“I don’t…” Keith begins. “I’m not…”

 

“Oh man.” Lance’s voice deepens, taking on a more serious tone as he places a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Keith. You don’t understand the gravitas of this invitation. Hunk’s lasagna is like, life altering. AND there will be garlic bread. GARLIC BREAD, KEITH. You can’t afford to miss this opportunity. C’mon! if you don’t have plans...?”

 

Keith shakes his head, no he doesn’t have plans.

 

“Ohmigosh you won’t be sorry. Seriously, you’ll never eat that canned mess again.  And Hunk loves having people eat his food, he’ll be so stoked.”

 

Keith grumbles a little in reply, but finds that his heart isn’t in it. The rest of his shift goes by quickly, all of his thoughts permeated by the hum of anticipation for that evening. Anticipation and….nerves. His modest social life had died a quick and painless death after leaving school, and he hasn’t ever connected with anyone at his past jobs…without the backdrop of work, will he even be able to keep up a conversation?

 

He sneaks a sideways glance towards Lance, currently leaning over Pidge, nodding in agreement as they explain something to him. The guy socializes effortlessly. And Keith had told himself he would be _better_ at this job. Before his first day, he scrawled over his bathroom mirror in dry erase marker: “ **GOAL: Keep this job AT LEAST one year**.” It’s still there, weeks later, reminding him every day before he goes in for his shift.

 

And isn’t bonding with your coworkers a decent way to increase your chances of keeping a job? At least, that what he tells himself, while he’s on his way to Lance’s and Hunk’s apartment and all he wants to do is back out.

 

\---

 

“Hunk, what was I thinking?” Lance wails. He’s sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter across from the stove. It’s a terrible habit, one his mama would definitely yell at him for, but he likes to keep Hunk company while he cooks. This way he’s right in the middle of things, but Hunk can still move easily throughout the kitchen.

 

Hunk shrugs. For anyone else it would a sight to see, his large frame in a frilly yellow apron (Pidge got it for him as a gag gift last Christmas, but he wears it anyways, mostly unironically at this point), mismatched oven mitts on either hand. But Lance is used to Hunk in cooking mode, and barrels onwards:

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have even invited him? Did I cross a line?”

 

“Well, why did you then?”

 

“You don’t understand. He looked so sad, eating his lunch. Despondent, even. I mean, he was still adorable, but sad.”

 

Lance ignores Hunk’s responding eye-roll. He’s recounted and had him analyse nearly every single interaction with Keith over the past months so his roommate’s lack of enthusiasm at this point is understandable.

 

(But what’s a man to do when the newbie is out-of-this-world gorgeous, yet oh-so-grumpy? And so what if Lance is a little bit obsessed? However, even a friend as good as Hunk eventually runs low on patience after having to hear about How Cute Keith Is on the daily. Example: “Keith was humming along to the store’s music again!! [incomprehensible sputtering] Today it was ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’. He even did the ‘Do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodoooooooo’ part!!! I _died_ Hunk.” Cue eye roll. Rinse and repeat after every shift. For the last five weeks.)

 

Luckily, Lance knows how to keep Hunk involved:

 

“I just thought he looked so depressed, and your food always cheers me up so…”

 

“Oh!” Hunk brightens. “That’s true! Maybe he just needs a good meal in him! He was probably really happy you invited him, actually.”

 

“I dunno man, he was straight-up glaring at me in the pharmacy afterwards! I think he hates me.”

 

Hunk opens the oven door and caaaaarefully pulls out the wire rack, giving the top of the lasagna a poke. “I think it could use a few more minutes, but we’re almost done.”

 

“Hunk! This is important! I have to decide if our extremely attractive co-worker who is _on his way here_ , actually hates me!!”

 

“Hand me the garlic press, would ya?” Lance gives him a pointed glare before leaning down to rummage through the drawer underneath where he’s seated. Hunk gives him a nod of thanks and continues, while chopping up a bundle of parsley for the garlic bread, “I don’t think he hates you. I don’t think he hates any of us. Every time I’ve talked to Keith, it’s been awkward, but not bad...have you ever considered that maybe the guy isn’t great with people?”

 

“Are you saying that Keith Kogane is just _shy_?” Lance says, incredulous. “No, no. No. You need to pay better attention. It’s much more likely that he hates me. Heck, he’s probably not even going to come.”

 

The doorbell rings. (Lance covers his face. “You get it, I’m too nervous.”) He listens to Hunk’s greeting, no less exuberant for having to listen to Lance’s whining, and privately considers that he may have the best roommate ever.

 

“Keith, hi! I hope you’re hungry! I’m almost done with everything, come on in!”

 

“Hi,” Keith unsnaps and resnaps the button on the bottom of his riding jacket. “Thanks for having me.”

 

Lance leans over from his spot on the counter, one hand on his ankles, the other waving Keith in. “Keith!!! You actually came!!!”

 

“Was I not supposed to?” Keith looks alarmed.

 

“No, you were definitely supposed to.” Hunk informs him.

 

“Is this where the party’s at?!” Pidge busts in the door, weighed down with plastic bags. “Hey Keith, glad you finally made it to Wednesday night dinner. God knows we’ve heard enough about you at these things, it’ll be a blessing to finally have you here in person.” Before Keith can question what they mean, they continue. “Hunk, it smells soooooo gooooooooood. I started drooling halfway down the hall!!” They elbow their way past Hunk into the kitchen and shoo Lance off the counter. “Lance, get your nasty feet off the counter, how many times do I have to tell you that is fucking _unsanitary._ ”

 

Lance grins, “Language, Pidge.”

 

“Shut the hell up,” they reply affectionately. “Anyways. I got the goods.” Grinning wolfishly, they pull three pints of Ben & Jerry's from the bags they carried in: cookie dough, phish food, and Lance’s personal favorite, strawberry cheesecake. “Plus,” they hold it up triumphantly, “whipped cream!”

 

“And, a Monster for me,” they finish, cracking it open with a flourish.

 

“Pidge, you are never gonna sleep tonight,” Hunk shakes his head sadly.

 

“Sleep is for the weak.”

 

Lance pops himself off the counter and walks over to Keith, who’s still barely in the door. “Keithy, take your gloves off, get comfortable, stay awhile.”

 

Keith obediently snaps off his gloves, stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket before he pulls it off. “You guys are really close,” he mutters.

 

Lance watches Hunk pull the garlic bread out of the oven while Pidge works on cutting the lasagna with laser focus. “It’s amazing what a mutual hate for a cruddy workplace can do for interpersonal relationships.”

 

Keith snorts, a short kind of half-laugh, but it goes straight to Lance’s heart. He looked ill at ease when he came in the door, but the humor completely transforms his face, softens all the edges, like he might be capable of relaxing now. It’s not even a proper laugh, really, but that’s the first time the guy has responded to any of Lance’s jokes, and Lance decides right then and there that the goal for the rest of his night is to elicit an actual laugh out of Keith.

 

\----

 

“I. am. so. full.” Lance flops backwards in his chair and groans.

 

Hunk nods, patting his tummy in agreement. “It did turn out good.”

 

“Good?” Keith looks around the table. “Hunk, that was probably the best thing I ever ate.”

 

His eyes shine bright in response, and he clasps Keith’s shoulder, taking him by one hand. “Keith, I knew I liked you.”

 

“Get used to it Mulletman, all of Hunk’s cooking is on this level.” Lance shoots him lazy finger guns from across the table, still slumped over in his chair.

 

Pidge mumbles in agreement, “The garlic bread though.”

 

Lance recovers from his jello-like position, slowly pulling tension back into his long limbs as he stands up and starts collecting the dishes. “Okay, Pidge, what’ll it be?”

 

He explains to Keith, “Every week, the winner from the previous week, 1) brings dessert, and 2) chooses what we play while eating said dessert.”

 

“He says ‘winner’ like we don’t know who it’ll be.” Hunk comments.

 

Pidge preens, looking at their nails as they hum conspicuously.

 

“Okay, EVEN THOUGH, Pidge won the last FOUR weeks in a row DOES _NOT_ MEAN that Lance the Magnificent isn’t gonna wipe the floor with you nerds this week!”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

“Lance the Magnificent? Really?”

 

“Okay. I’m in.” The three of them turn to look at Keith.  He cracks his knuckles. “C’mon, Lance, let’s see what you got.”

 

“Oh, Keith. You. Are. On.”

 

\----

 

“BULLSHIT!” Lance shrieks. “Bull. shit. Hunk.”

 

Hunk turns over the cards. Three jacks, like he said. “Pick ‘em up, Lance.” Glowering, Lance collects the massive pile of cards in the middle of the table. He shuffles through them, putting them in order in his hand, grumbling all the while.

 

Keith wonders aloud, “How are you so bad at this, Lance?”

 

“Just because I have to play cards with Rainman One and Two over here, does not mean I’m _bad_ at it, Keith,” he sputters.

 

“Maybe you’re distracted?” Hunk supplies, helpful.

 

Pidge sips their Monster primly. “At least we’re not playing strip poker.” At Keith’s resulting look of terror, Pidge adds, “This week.”

 

“Okay, that’s it, we need to form an alliance to beat Pidge.” Hunk, his face severe.  

 

“Agreed.” Keith and Lance reply in unison.

 

Turns out, both Keith and Lance are equally hopeless at deciding who is lying and who is not. Out of the five games they play, Pidge wins three and Hunk the other two. Lance can’t seem to focus on the game even remotely, and Keith is just awful at lying in general. Too many tells.

 

“Best four out of six!” Lance shouts, having lost with the most cards in his hand, again.

 

“You would still be dead last, even if we played again,” Keith picks out the last chunk of cookie dough from his ice cream.

 

“Yeah, well at least I didn’t try to play FIVE of something!”

 

Hunks sighs. “Add another week to Pidge’s winning streak.” He moves to gather their ice cream bowls.

 

“Oh, no, no, no!” Lance snatches the bowls out of Hunk’s hands. “You cooked, my man. Me and Keith are on dish duty tonight.”

 

\---

 

Keith leans against the counter next to the sink, listening idly while Lance suds up a whole sinkful of dishes and goes to town with a sponge, chatting animatedly all the while. He enjoys the cadence of his voice, the feelings Lance pulls into the words, his changing expression, more than what Lance is actually saying. His lack of concentration begins to show. 

 

“Hey,” Lance flicks a bubble towards Keith, “you listening?”

 

“Mmm, kinda.”

 

“Jerk.” Lance waves his elbows, chicken-wing style, “I said, help me pull up my sleeves. They’re falling down and my hands are all soapy.”

 

“Oh.” Keith hesitates, reaching awkwardly across Lance’s chest so he can use both hands to pull up the sleeve furthest away first. Lance is still while he tugs the one cuff into place on his forearm, then the other.

 

“Better?” he asks, looking up into Lance’s face.

 

“Y-yeah.” Lance shakes his head a little and concentrates on scrubbing off the baking sheet. “Towels’re in that drawer,” he motions behind him.

 

He begins recounting past dinners to Keith as he hands him dishes to dry. Burgers. Enchiladas. Gyros. Fried rice. Tacos, of course. A huge salad bar, one time. Sometimes Shiro joins them, sometimes Pidge’s brother Matt, sometimes Shay, Hunk’s girlfriend, if she’s in town. Lance tends to talk with his hands, regardless of whatever else he’s doing, so it doesn’t take long before most of the counter and the floor surrounding the sink are just as wet as the dishes.

 

“Oh, careful,” he interjects as he clumsily hands Keith the big chef’s knife that Hunk used.

 

Keith smirks, “I know you’re still upset you lost, but trying to stab me, that’s pretty low…”

 

“What, Keith, I wouldn…”

 

Keith laughs. And Lance freezes.

 

It’s a stupid-dorky laugh. Not overly loud, but Keith’s hand comes halfway up like it might cover his mouth. And his eyes squeeze tight, and his nose scrunches up, and his head tilts back, and he has a dimple. He has a dimple. Lance can’t help but laugh too, feeling like his heart might just squeeze right out of his chest.

 

“This was fun.” Keith’s half smile still plays over his lips.

 

Lance swallows. “Next week will be even better…” he manages.

 

“I should come again?” Keith is hesitant.

 

“Well yeah!” Lance looks indignant, like how could Keith not always be there now. “It’s gonna take all of us to defeat the beast that is Pidge.”

 

“Keep dreaming, Lance The Magnificent,” they call from the next room over.

 

“Damn you and your freakishly good ears!” Lance shouts.

 

He tugs his ear, smile bashful, lowers his voice, so that Keith leans in slightly. “I definitely want you to come again.”

 

\-----

 

Keith settles into a routine. It’s now been almost six months since he started.

 

Gym, work, home, and Wednesday night dinners. Yeah, working retail is a soul sucking hellscape….but when you actually get along with your co workers, at least you make the best of it together.

 

It’s amazing, really, what a steady paycheck and a couple of people in your life who you don’t hate can do for your overall mood. Not that Keith normally hates people by default. He’s just not great at socializing. It’s like….people seem to take him the wrong way? Being inarticulate is taken for surliness, and reclusivity for aloofness. When people do talk to him, he can come off as callous, his few words falling too harsh.

 

Combine all that with a temper that occasionally causes him to act before thinking, and well, suffice it to say, Keith doesn’t have a great track record for making friends.

 

Shiro had been the original exception to this rule.

 

They had met at the gym, while they were in the same kickboxing class. That day, Keith had stopped mid-class, needing to catch his breath for a moment, tie his hair back, grab a drink from his water bottle. Shiro had jogged over to him, “Hey, you okay?” authentic concern written on his features. Keith stood, one hand on his hip, breathing heavy from the workout. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. At his grunt of affirmation, Shiro had looked relieved, “Oh good. I thought I should check….I know this class always kicks my butt.” Before Keith could think of anything to say in response, Shiro had chuckled, “You know, because it’s kickboxing.”

 

Keith soon finds that groan-worthy humor is a perfect foundation on which any number of relationships can be built. He and Shiro begin talking on a daily basis, since both of them spend a majority of their free time at the gym. He finds Shiro easy to get along with; he’s personable and genuine, but never pries. Nor does he seem put off by Keith’s blunt disposition.

 

So when Shiro had walked in one day and found Keith hunched over on one of the benches outside the changing room, towel over his head, looking utterly defeated, it was normal for him to sit down next to Keith and ask him what happened:

 

“Got fired.” Keith muttered, wretched.

 

“Keith. Again?”

 

He nodded, head hanging even lower. His hands clasped tighter in front of him, eyes squeezed shut, hating himself. It had only been two weeks at this job. Bussing tables at a cruddy restaurant-that-is-actually-more-like a bar wasn’t exactly his dream job, but he was hoping it would work out better than delivering pizzas had. Or doing odd jobs at the auto-shop. Or being a mover. Or mowing lawns. Or janitorial work. Or stocking backrooms at pretty much every big box retailer around. Or practically any of the fast food jobs he’d suffered though.

 

Some jerk had been harassing one of the waitresses. Keith heard her ignoring the old man’s comments, but then he got handsy, and Keith saw red. He should’ve just kept his head down, minded his own business, but instead he decked the guy. And broke a whole load of dishes in the process. (“Idiot!” the waitress had spat at him. “Iverson’s a regular! He tips well enough to make up for whatever!”)

 

“The owner said he would be pressing charges...he said he would get me evicted from my apartment for violence.”

 

Shiro shook his head. “I doubt that’ll happen Keith.” He sighed. “Don’t worry...you’ll get back on your feet. You will find something else.”

 

Keith nodded, dejected. He couldn’t afford not to. Literally.

 

Seeming to read his mind, Shiro asked, “Do you have enough for rent this month?”

 

Startled, “Shiro, no. There’s no way I can accept…”

 

“Then how about a job? You can pass a background check and a drug test, right?” Shiro grinned. “I’ll hire you.”

 

\----

 

So, before he started in the pharmacy, things had been bad. Thinking back on it, he’s a little bit amazed he managed to survive for so long, working multiple jobs at a time, never staying long at any of them, barely scraping by. There had definitely been times where money that should have been spent on food, laundry, basic necessities got funneled towards bigger bills. And even then, there were some months that bills didn’t get paid on time. It was rough. But, Keith doesn’t believe in dwelling on the past; he’s just content to be grateful for what he’s got now.

 

He sees Shiro at the gym and gives him a wave. He starts up the treadmill, punching in an easy pace to warm up. After the run, Keith heads to the free weights. Slowly, thanks to the physical exertion, the tension from the day eases out of his muscles. Shiro joins him after his workout.

 

“How are things going?”

 

Keith continues his cool down stretching. “Good day,” he decides. “Queue was pretty much clear when I left. They should be able to leave on time tonight.” Shiro had worked the opening shift and things had been hectic. It calmed down after lunch though.

 

“No, I mean, how are things? With you?”

 

“Oh.” Keith nods. “Yeah, things are good with me too.”  He switches so that he’s stretching out the hamstrings of the opposite leg.

 

“I heard you’ve become a regular at Lance and Hunk’s Wednesday night dinners. I was surprised. But happy.”

 

Keith ducks his head, shy. “Yeah. I’m just as surprised as you are. But...they’re a lot of fun.” He stands up, looks at Shiro. “Thank you, Shiro. For always looking out for me.”

 

Shiro swirls his after-workout protein shake in agreement. “We have a good team.”  He stops with the drink halfway to his lips, sly, “So. Lance, huh?”

 

Keith freezes mid-stretch. “Please don’t tell me I’m that obvious.”

 

He chuckles. “Well, definitely not to Lance.”

 

Keith’s face is red and he starts to stutter out some excuse, before Shiro continues, “I could probably help you with that too….”

 

“I swear, if you breathe a word,” Shiro looks way too smug so Keith just counters: “Allura, huh?”

 

“Okay, now that’s completely different! Keith! She’s--”

 

“Mmhmm. Yep. I bet.” Keith motions zipping his lips. “Don’t say a word.”

 

Shiro wasn’t wrong. He’s not quite sure when Lance’s flirting became charming instead of annoying, or when their bickering became entertainment instead of actual antagonism, or when his casual touches started to burn Keith, make his pulse race….

 

But, Keith considers, what does he have to offer to someone like Lance? He’s funny, he’s smart (he’s even takes college classes, Keith found out recently, in addition to working full time), he’s good to his family and friends, good to Keith...Lance is amazing. So his crush will stay just that: a crush. He won’t act on it. He won’t mess this up.

 

\----

 

“You have _GOTTA_ be shitting me right now.”

 

Lance lays sprawled against his car, forehead resting against the top of the driver’s door. He smacks the roof of the car for punctuation. “Are. you. Actually. Shitting. Me. Right. Now.”

 

“Lance? What’s going on?” Keith walks over from where his bike is parked, helmet in hand. They both worked the closing shift, and had already parted ways to go home. He leans down and cradles one hand against the glass to see what has Lance freaking out in the parking lot at ten p.m. “Oh.”

 

“Yep.” Lance responds, popping the “p.” There, resting ever so nicely on the driver’s seat, are Lance’s car keys.

 

Lance closes his eyes. Be zen. The universe knows all. His final exam this morning went abnormally well, this must be payback for that. Deep breath.

 

“It’s fine.” Lance throws some shaky finger guns at Keith, “I have a spare key at home so I’ll just call Hunk…wait.” Oh, this is not good. This is actually really bad.

 

“This is bad.” He informs Keith, who nods in agreement. He opens his mouth to respond but Lance cuts him off.

 

“No this is really bad. It’s the third weekend of the month.” Lance places his hands on Keith’s shoulders and shakes. “Hunk always goes and sees Shay on the third weekend of the month. He’s FOUR hours away AT LEAST,” he wails.

 

“Well.” Keith starts.

 

“Okay, here’s the plan, Keithy boy.” Lance starts to pace back and forth. He had an exam that morning, meaning he pulled an all-nighter beforehand to study. And then, after the exam, he worked his normal eight hour shift. So...he’s pretty much beat. But, dangit, he can still come up with a plan.

 

“Okay, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call a cab, or no, I can walk, or take the bus?? Is it too late for the bus? Well, anyways, I’ll get home and then I’ll break the window to my room and get the spare key. Wait, I’m on the third floor. Okay, so I’ll climb up! and THEN break the window and then get the keys, and then I’ll walk back here,”

 

“Lance,” Keith tries to start again.

 

“Oh you’re right!” Lance smacks a fist against his palm. “I should just break the car window! Or, no, that would cost more to fix than the apartment window. I have renter’s insurance though. But I have car insurance too, so,”

 

“Lance, just!!!” Keith shouts, grabbing his arms to stop his pacing.

 

“Which costs more to fix, a broken car window, or a broken window window?” Lance asks, looking into Keith’s upturned face.

 

“How should I know?”

 

“You are a mullet-having, motorcycle-riding, lone-wolf type!! That’s grade-A delinquent material right there!”

 

Keith spreads his arms as if to say, _why me_. His voice is a little pitchy, “I haven’t ever broken a window in my life! Why would my hair make me break windows?”

 

“I don’t know what goes on in the mind of someone with a mullet! I can’t even imagine…”

 

“Wait, you’re getting off track again.” Keith puts a hand up. By some miracle, Lance pauses. “What I’ve been trying to say is, just come home with me.”  

 

Lance’s head snaps around so fast he’ll probably have whiplash. “What.”

 

Keith isn’t meeting his eyes. “I mean. I could take you. On my bike.” His fingers tap out an anxious rhythm against his thighs. “If you have somewhere else you would rather stay. But if not….we both work tomorrow, so it makes sense right?” He looks up at Lance, questioning.

 

“Keith!” Lance wraps him in a hug and squeezes tight. “My buddy, my pal! You are the best! Hair and all! I could kiss you right now!!”

 

Lance feels Keith stiffen in his arms. “Um.”

 

Lance quickly backs off, ignoring the way his ears are absolutely burning. His face must be bright red. He picks up Keith’s helmet and hands it back to him, with a sheepish smile. _Whoops. Sorry I say stupid things._ Clearing his throat, he backtracks.

 

“Are you sure it’s okay though?”

 

“Not a big deal.” Keith is already turned away from him, and it’s too dark to for Lance to be certain, but Keith may be blushing as well.

 

Keith clears his throat. “Have you ever ridden before?” He hands Lance a helmet.

 

“No, never,” Lance starts to say but loses the thought as Keith throws one leg over the seat and pats behind him. Lance balks. It’s one thing to admire his ass in the dark colored chinos he wears to work, but quite another to be sidled up next to it.

 

“Umm, so, I guess….like this…?” he begins, sitting down gingerly behind Keith. His knees brush against Keith’s hips, and he gulps. What did he do to deserve this?

 

“You’re not gonna break her,” Keith waits a moment for Lance to get adjusted, nice and snug behind him. “That’s good, okay, rest your feet there, mhmm….perfect.”

 

Lance rubs sweaty palms on his thighs, and he feels a bit delirious as the engine roars to life beneath them. _YEP, this is really happening, just going to Keith’s, on his bike, no big deal, ahahah…_

 

“All you have to worry about is holding on tight!” Keith calls over his shoulder, voice muffled by his own helmet.

 

And then.

 

As soon as the Keith turns out of the parking lot, self preservation overrides self consciousness, and Lance clings to Keith’s back like his life depends on it. When they start hurtling down the highway, he tightens his grip even more. He can feel Keith’s response in a soft chuckle that ripples underneath his arms. Keith is warm despite the cold air rushing past them. His deceptively lithe body becomes a solid anchor, shifting slightly under Lance, as he leans into turns or adjusts their speed. Lance closes his eyes against his back and feels lost in the moment.

 

When they arrive at Keith’s apartment, he has no idea how long it took or where they actually are. _Over already,_ he thinks, dazed, as Keith pulls up expertly in a parking spot and kills the engine. The thrum seems to continue through Lance’s pulse.

 

“You can let go now,” Keith smirks, patting Lance’s hands that remain clasped around his midsection.

 

“Whoops, sorry!” Lance bolts off the back of the bike, bouncing a little as he regains his balance. “That was something, I mean, wow,” he motions with his hands, at a loss. “That was. Amazing. You’re amazing.”

 

“I’m not that special.” Nonchalant, Keith shakes the hair out of his eyes after pulling off his helmet. Some of the hair stays stuck to his forehead and Lance wants nothing more than to brush it off for him. He’s shaken out of this reverie by Keith’s smile as he continues, “but, I agree, the rush of riding, especially at night, when the road and the sky are clear….there’s nothing like it.”

 

\---

 

Keith is hoping that Lance won’t notice the slight shake of his hands as he slides the key into the lock and turns the deadbolt. He states the obvious. “This is me.”

 

He tries to look at his apartment with fresh eyes. It’s small. The main room off the kitchen doesn’t have much furniture or decor, besides the weirdly colored, not-quite-green couch he got off craigslist when he moved in. His bookshelf used to have a bunch more books, but he’d sold most of them the last time he had trouble making rent. The walls look bare too. He should invest in some curtains or something….At least it doesn’t smell bad, probably. Maybe.

 

Keith hastily kicks the laundry on the floor into more of a pile. He hasn’t had the motivation to go to the laundromat in awhile. Or do much of anything beyond the absolute bare minimum. Wait, when was the last time he cleaned the bathroom? Or cleaned at all? _Fuck._

 

Lance looks around the place, openly curious, and Keith is about to say something defensive, when Lance gasps,

 

“Keith! You didn’t tell me your roommate was such a babe!”

 

“Roommate?” Keith follows Lance’s gaze down to the black cat that’s slinking towards them. “Oh. She doesn’t really...like...people…..” he trails off as the cat winds itself around Lance’s ankles and begins rubbing enthusiastically against his outstretched hand.

 

“Nah, she’s a total babe.” Lance confirms, “Can’t get enough of these magic fingers~” he sing songs, scratching down her spine. “What’s her name?”

 

(Keith pointedly ignores any and all thoughts concerning Lance’s magic fingers.)

 

“Blue.”

 

From up on top of the fridge, a nearly identical black cat angrily swats her tail and spit-hisses at Lance. Keith points. “And that’s Red.”

 

“Blue and Red?” Lance smiles-- amusement that’s completely without malice and goes all the way up to the crinkles around his blue eyes. “Your naming sense is phenomenal.”

 

Keith didn’t realize until this exact moment that when people use the expression “heart skips a beat,” that it’s an actual thing, that his heart could actually _skip a beat._ But now, having Lance in his apartment, Lance smiling just for him, and him alone, makes him feel short of breath. His heart stutters in his chest.

 

….He’s different in this context, outside the bustle of work or the grandiosity of his personality around his friends. This is the actual Lance, not the larger-than-life version he always appears to be, with his perfect skin, and quick mouth, and easy going personality. This Lance is more approachable, more real. With slight circles under his eyes, shirt wrinkled, standing in his socks in Keith’s kitchen, talking to his cats--this is Lance.  

 

Keith tosses a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner and listens to Lance chatter at him and Blue intermittently. He listens and tries to think when was the last time he felt this way with another person, if he’s _ever_ felt this way.

 

“Uh, hopefully this isn’t weird, but could I maybe borrow some sweatpants or something to sleep in tonight?” Lance requests hesitantly.  

 

“Huh? Yeah, let me find some.” Keith starts towards his room.

 

“Chill. I’ll make sure the pizza doesn’t burn.”

 

Keith rummages through his drawers. Will his clothes even fit Lance? His long legs, slim waist…. Pulse pounding, he can still feel the warmth of having his chest pressed flush against his back. Keith squints his eyes and focuses on finding something reasonably clean.

 

“Hey, pizza’s done,” Lance knocks on the frame of his door prior to poking his head inside. “Woah.”

 

Oh yeah. He forgot.

 

“Woooah.” Lance repeats as he walks into Keith’s room.

 

The wall opposite his bed serves as an enormous bulletin board, almost entirely covered in pictures and articles. Diagrams. Printouts and photographs. Graph paper maps. Most of them are about various UFO sightings. A few on more recent cryptozoology news. Only one or two strictly about aliens.

 

As a kid, he’d spent a lot of time in the science fiction section of the library. He might be in a different neighborhood than the year before, with different people, in a different home, but the local library was always free and always had a scifi section. As he had gotten older he had naturally sought out similar interests online, and stumbled upon a forum of ufo sightings: “The Unexplainable and Extraterrestrial.” And from there, an obsession.

 

“That’s.” Keith doesn’t know where to start.

 

“This. Is. So. Cool!” Lance flits along the wall, peering at the pictures, reading headlines, twisting his neck to better understand a diagram. “Wait! Does that mean when you come to work all tired and cranky because you didn’t get enough sleep it’s because you were online, talking about, like, bigfoot?”

 

“….No.”

 

“Yeah, it looks like you’re more into aliens. How do you know if any of this stuff is real though?”

 

“Look it’s just a hobby,” Keith waves at the wall, “but you can go online and read eyewitness accounts from people all over the world, _tons_ of them, not just from the present day, but going way back-- hundreds of years. Hell, even me, I could go out on my bike, and possibly see something _right now_ , if the sky was clear enough. _Regardless_ , there are similarities between sightings that have happened hundreds of miles apart, on different continents even. Too many coincidences to be explained away, stuff that _couldn’t_ be caused by natural phenomenon or military aircraft. Take, for instance, one of the most well documented UFO sightings in recent years,”

 

He stops. Lance is grinning at him. “...What.”

 

Lance covers his mouth with his hand. “No, no, keep going.”

 

“Are you making fun of me?”

 

“What! No!” Lance looks guilty. “It’s just….that’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk. And, you’re sointothisitscute.”

 

“What?” Keith frowns, Lance looks innocently back at him.

 

Obviously unable to resist, Lance continues, “Wait, does this mean you’re one of those people who thinks the Earth is flat?” Keith sputters. “Or that the moon landing is a hoax? What are your thoughts about the moon landing, Keith?”

 

“Out. Now.” Keith pushes him, well aware of the blush that’s making his ears and neck burn. Lance’s jibes are good natured though, and he finds he doesn’t mind the gentle teasing. It’s not the first time he’s enjoyed being the center of Lance’s attention.

 

“Yeah, you’re right, the pizza’s getting cold. C’mon, Mr. Conspiracy Theory.”

 

\-----

 

They eat on the couch, mostly because Keith doesn’t have an actual table. Lance sits cross-legged, devours three slices in the time it takes Keith to eat one.

 

“So, what else don’t I know about you?”

 

Keith picks off a pepperoni and eats it individually. He licks the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know?”

 

“Yanno….” Lance pauses, scratches his cheek awkwardly. “I’m not the type to judge or anything, like, you can be real with me.”

 

“Yeah. I just don’t,” Keith sucks in a breath. “I’mnotgoodatthis.” he breathes out all at once.

 

“Obviously.” Lance unhooks one of his legs from where they’re crossed and playfully pushes against Keith’s thigh with his foot. “That’s okay.” Lance looks up at the ceiling. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.” He purses his lips. “Well. except for this exact moment. I kinda have to go to the bathroom…”

 

Snorting, Keith throws him the sweatpants he got out of his drawer. He points down the hall to the only other door besides his bedroom. “Right there.”

 

“Ah, thanks,” Lance trails down the hall, making a pit stop to pat Blue on the head as he passes her.

 

Keith bites his lip. He feels so nervous he’s giddy and having trouble forming coherent thoughts. But it’s not the anxious kind of nervous that can debilitate and depress, the one that cripples him at times. Instead, it’s like the nerves at the crest of the top of the first hill on the rollercoaster he rode once as a kid; a choking exhilaration about what might happen next.

 

And what happens next is that Lance come out of the bathroom shirtless and wearing his joggers. Keith’s fingers clasp at nothing in the air. “Where’d your shirt go?” his voice cracks.

 

Lance looks at him quizzically. “I can’t sleep in it. I mean, it’s already wrinkled now but it’ll still be fine for work tomorrow.”

 

“Do you need one?” Keith asks, pulling his eyes away from how low the waistband of his pants is slung over Lance’s hips. Red boxers peek out over the top, the crimson color complementing the deep, warm tone of Lance’s summer colored skin.

 

“Nah,” Lance stretches his arms upwards, lats and abs and long limbs, “I usually just sleep in boxers so it’s cool.” He settles back down on the couch next to Keith. “Normally,”

 

 _what about this is normal_ , thinks Keith,

 

“normally I would say, let’s watch a movie or something, but” Lance yawns, proving the point he’s in the process of making, “I’m seriously worn out.”

 

Blue jumps up on the couch, rubbing her nose against Lance’s waiting hands before crawling over him to curl up in Keith’s lap.

 

“She still likes you better.” Lance smiles sleepily. His tone is hushed, the conversation feels intimate. He sinks down further on the couch, pulling a pillow with him to tuck under his head.

 

Keith scratches under her chin, down the soft fur of her neck. “Well...yeah. I’m the one who feeds her.” he replies fondly. Lance chuckles.

 

“I’ll get you a blanket,” he moves to get up, Blue hops off his lap.

 

“Keith, you’re the best,” Lance snuggles down further, extending his legs to fill the warm spot from where Keith had been sitting. Keith’s head spins, a flurry of emotions.

 

When Keith returns, Lance is fully asleep, mouth parted open in a soft snore against his hands folded under his chin.

 

Keith awkwardly spreads the blanket over him. He hesitates for a moment before leaning over to arrange it a little more neatly around his face. Lance stirs, barely opening his eyes. “Mm-thanks babe...”

 

Choking, Keith nods.

 

 _Lance,_ no _. I’m poor as fuck, terrible with people...if I don’t physically exhaust myself at the gym, I can’t even sleep because I have nightmares. Nightmares. On my days off I barely leave my bed, but if I do go out it’s for stuff like cat food, because I can’t screw up their lives too. This is the first job since I dropped out of college that I’ve managed to keep for more than three months. My life is finally starting to feel_ right _and it’s literally because_ you _made an effort to include me in yours. You can’t do this to me,  I’m not…._

 

Red (who has finally come down from her watch post on top of the fridge) and Blue watch as Keith gently strokes his knuckles down Lance’s cheek. He stays like that for a few moments, touch feather light, breath slowing to match Lance’s.

 

“Shhh,” he motions to the cats as he gets up and heads to his room.

 

\---

 

His chest feels heavy.

 

Lance wakes up groggy, blinking the mid-morning sun out of his eyes as his half asleep brain works out where he’s at. Oh right, Keith’s couch. He smiles, warm not just from sleep, but also from the thought of talking late at night, sitting so close together here on this very couch. And before that, the ride to the apartment on Keith’s bike. Last night had been good. He stretches out his legs and arms… and the weight on his chest turns to look at him indignantly.

 

“Mornin’ Blue,” he mumbles, scratching behind her ears. She flicks her tail and abruptly jumps off of him to pad into the kitchen at the same time that Keith appears coming out of the bathroom.

 

He watches over the top of the couch as Keith smacks open his beat-to-death coffee maker, frowning in concentration as he measures out more grounds than usual for an extra couple of cups. His eyes are still sleep swollen, his hair...it’s sticking up on one side, flopped over on the other, with more curl in it than it has during the day. It’s the most gorgeous bedhead Lance has ever seen. His fingers twitch with how much he wants to smooth it down. What kind of expression would Keith make, as he ran his hands through it, fingers dragging across his scalp?

 

Lance swallows, pressing the butt of his palms over his eyes. “It’s too early for this.”

 

“Agreed,” Keith replies from across the room, his voice raspy with sleep.

 

He’s wearing boxers, navy-blue cotton ones that stop mid-thigh, with a pattern little yellow stars on them, and a white v-neck undershirt, which is hiked up on one side from being caught in the waistband of his shorts. Keith squats down to pour two cups of cat food into a bowl, and Lance silently thanks the gods of lost keys and the gods of cat food for the view.

 

“You’re quiet in the morning,” Keith states after clearing his throat, standing up. Lance has a moment of panic as his brain automatically replies _you’re_ hot _in the morning,_ but, holy shit, luckily he doesn’t say it out loud.

 

Instead he manages a cross between a yawn and a grumble that could generously be translated as “I’ll be awake soon.”

 

Keith walks over to the couch to hand him a bowl of miniwheats and a spoon. “I don’t mind,” he says, with a crooked half smile.

 

And there it is. The moment where Lance feels his soul actually depart from his body. His brain is babbling a mile a minute ( _your smile’s so cute, your bedhead, those boxers, slender legs and bare feet, shit, Keith, why do you only wear black, you look_ so _good in that white shirt, pale skin, collarbones, don’t ever wear a v-neck to work, I can’t deal, want you so bad right now, can I touch, wanna..._ ) and he totally misses the question Keith asks him.

 

“Huh?” he blinks over his cereal.

 

Keith repeats, “I said, did you, um, sleep okay?”

 

Lance laughs way too loudly. “I slept great!!” he hollers.

 

“Oookay.” Keith continues. “Coffee’ll be done soon. Wanna shower first or...”

 

“Thanks for letting me stay!” Lance blurts out.

 

Keith blinks, runs a hand through his hair. “You’re welcome?” He looks uncomfortable and Lance mentally kicks himself for being so out of it. Keith sits down on the arm of the couch, and takes a bite of his cereal. They crunch together for a moment before Keith volunteers, “I don’t have many...guests...so. I hope it was okay.”

 

Lance watches as Blue hops up between them and starts kneading into the blanket that’s pooled around his lap. He pets her head, tugs ever so gently on her soft ears. She begins to purr, low and steady. When he raises his gaze back to Keith, the other is studying him with dark and solemn eyes. He responds, sincere, “it was perfect.”

 

\----

 

“What. is that.” Lance hisses.

 

Pidge sighs. They’re too busy for this, but they know from experience that ignoring Lance in hopes that he will go away is a futile endeavor. Best to just get it over with. They crane their neck over the top of the computer monitor in the direction Lance is currently shooting daggers.

 

“Looks like Keith is showing a customer where the allergy medicine is.”

 

“Oh _that’s_ what’s happening? Phew.” Lance pantomimes wiping perspiration off his brow. “Thank goodness _that’s_ what’s happening because to me it looks like KEITH IS GETTING HIT ON BY AN EXTREMELY HOT GUY AND DEFINITELY NOT MAD ABOUT IT.” He seems to be verging on hysterics.

 

Pidge looks again. The guy is close to them in age and while maybe not “extremely hot,” he certainly has a Look about him. Big brown eyes and tousled waves balance out a bit of scruff and more than a few tattoos. He leans close to Keith to show him something on his phone. Keith motions to the shelf in response and the guy cracks an easy smile.

 

“He just laughed!! Keith is making jokes” Lance slumps over. “He’s into him. He’s getting digits.”

 

“I highly doubt Keith has turned into a joke-telling-Casanova in the last two minutes Lance.”

 

“Pidge! Stop being so obvious you’ve been watching, he’s coming back!” Lance punches them in the arm without taking his eyes off the aisle. Tattoos and Good Hair gives Keith a wave of thanks before they part ways.

 

Keith returns without saying anything and goes back to work. Lance pointedly ignores him for a few minutes, before

 

“So, Keith, when’s the date?”

 

“What? What date?”  Keith looks to Pidge for a clue but they just shake their head.

 

“You know, your date with Mr. Tattoos.” Lance crosses his arms and jabs his chin in the direction of the aisle.

 

Keith is confused. “He was looking for Benadryl to give to his dog...the internet said to use tablets, but we only had capsules in stock…”

 

“Oh so he has a dog,” Lance says acidly.

 

“I guess?” Keith shrugs.

 

“Hrmph.” Lance flounces back to his station, unusually quiet for the remainder of Keith’s shift.

 

As soon as Keith is off for the day, Pidge turns to him. “You know, this level of petty is absurd, even for you Lance. Jealousy is not cute.”

 

“And,” Pidge continues, before Lance can kindly tell them where to shove it, “I’m _pretty_ sure, last time I checked, you have no license to be jealous if you _haven’t even told him you like him_.”

 

Allura nods sagely. “Lance, that was painfully melodramatic.”

 

“Princess, even you?” Lance feigns being wounded but his heart’s not in the charade.

 

He feels like he HAS told Keith he likes him. Sure, not in so many words, but how much more obvious can you get?

 

Ever since the night he spent in Keith’s apartment, Lance has thought of nothing else but how to go back. What if Keith got sick? Lance could take him food, nurse him back to health. But Keith doesn’t get sick. What if he pretended to get into a fight with Hunk? He could say Hunk kicked him out, but anyone who knows Hunk also wouldn’t believe that for a moment. What if he just threw his keys out all together? Whoops, sorry Keith, you’ll just have to drive me around everywhere now, strong and cool and perfect on the back of your motorcycle.  

 

But Keith acts like nothing happened. And actually, nothing did happen, but it didn’t _feel_ like nothing. At least, not to Lance. He’s just remembering the smell of Keith’s shampoo in the shower, the tender annoyance Keith shows as he pulls Red off to make his bed, how Keith mumbles to himself while he gets ready, the fire in his eyes after the thrill of riding his motorcycle fast down the freeway in the dark...

 

It’s making Lance crazy.

 

Lance leaves work that day feeling like he seriously needs to let loose a little.

 

\----

 

As soon as Lance opens the door, Keith sucks in a breath.

 

“It looks worse than it is.” Lance says by way of greeting. He invites Keith to step inside with a shrug of his shoulder, then plops himself back down on the couch, holding an ice pack over one eye. He leans over, pausing the documentary he’s watching on netflix, before motioning for Keith to sit down beside him.

 

Lance had called off that day (a very rare occurrence) and upon hearing from Hunk it was because of an injury, Keith went to visit him as soon as he got off work.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Well, first of all, you should see the other guy,” Lance tries to pull one of his signature grins, but ends up wincing. “I do have a headache though,” he admits to a spot above Keith’s head.

 

“Let me see.” Keith isn’t prepared for the way his hands are trembling as he gently moves Lance’s hand holding the icepack to get a better look. The ugly swath of purple under Lance’s eye makes his stomach drop, and Keith feels the need to bite the inside of his cheek because he wants to sob. Lance has a split lip too; Keith watches as he runs his tongue over the cut, waiting for Keith to say something.

 

Keith swallows. He’s never felt _this_ black-out angry _emotional_ about something that _technically isn’t even related to him_ , and he’s having trouble processing. “What. happened.” He repeats.

 

“It’s stupid.” Lance starts in a small voice. He looks like he’s waiting for Keith to say something and when he doesn’t he huffs a little, and tells Keith that he was out the night before and after a drink, or two, he happened to chat up the wrong guy. He tells the story in a dull voice, without any of his usual bravado, hands picking at a loose edge on his tee shirt. He still doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes.

 

Keith clenches half-moons into his palms, grits out: “This happened because you got drunk and were flirting. With some homophobic loser. In a bar. By yourself.”

 

“Ah” Lance rubs the back of his neck. “When you say it like that. And technically I put the moves on his girlfriend first. Then him.”

 

“You’re an idiot.” Keith stands up. He slaps Lance’s hands that try to follow his as he makes to move for the door. The last time he felt this violent he got himself fired, then nearly kicked out of his apartment complex. And he’s much more angry now than he was at that time.

 

“It’s not like I’m proud of it, I know I’m stupid.” Lance spits out after him. “It’s pathetic. I was frustrated, okay, I was lonely! I know the great Keith Kogane never was such a colossal fuck up in life, he doesn’t GET lonely, but jeez, you don’t have to come over and be so nasty when I...” he seems unable to stop himself now that he’s started, and it’s only when Keith whirls around and starts shouting back at him that Lance trails off.

 

“What do you know?! What are you even talking about!? What is the matter with you, feeling sorry for yourself, getting beat up!! What do you mean, lonely? You could have texted me, called me, come over to my apartment, whatever! I’m right here!”

 

Keith’s face is red, chest heaving.

 

“Wait, what?” Lance looks genuinely stunned. “You don’t even like me...most days you barely tolerate me....”

Keith feels like Lance slapped him in the face. He blinks. Suddenly he feels tired, like the anger took everything out of him. “Lance, that’s what you think of me?” he asks, feeling heavy, feeling crushed, “If that’s what you think, that’s fine.” He shakes his head. “I’ll see you at work.”

 

He doesn’t remember the drive back to his apartment. Keith crawls into bed, miserable. How could he have thought that was a good decision? This isn’t him, he shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, he’s not the type who reaches out to people, starts relationships, he’s not good at this….

 

\---

 

Lance calls off the next day too. He asks Shiro if he can use his vacation time for this week.

 

\---

 

Keith wakes abruptly, eyes snapping open in the dark. Rolling on his side, he puts both hands over his sternum, as though he can physically calm his race of his heartbeat. He concentrates on relaxing his jaw from being clenched tightly together, teeth grinding in his sleep. He already knows it’ll be sore for the rest of the day.

 

As his breath slows, the nightmare fades. Just a few images remain, disconnected. Blood spatter on the wall. Someone hurt. Really hurt. Lance? Finding Lance in a blur, wounded, rushing, panic….gathering him in his arms. Holding him close. His pulse still thrums in his ears as he tries to remember, to pull the dream into the rational. It’s hazy, practically gone now, but, he can still picture the way Lance squinted in pain as he brushed the hair on his forehead. His hands were shaking.

 

He reaches to grab his phone off the nightstand, and checks the time, bleary-eyed. 2:38. Okay that’s not bad. Not bad at all. He can still get a solid three hours of sleep. More if he skips the gym before work.

 

His thumb hovers over the messaging icon, then Lance’s name.

 

They haven’t texted much -- working together, seeing each other practically everyday, they haven’t needed to. Just a few messages follow the initial “this is keith;” the same compulsory text he sent to everyone else in the pharmacy after the first week of working there.  

 

It’s been four days since he yelled at Lance. He hasn’t slept well since. Even while awake, he can’t get the image out of his mind, Lance’s black eye, the scrapes on his face, how he winced as Keith shouted. His expression as Keith turned and walked out the door.

 

Oh a whim, he thinks, _fuck it_. He types “hey” and hits send. He’s tired, tired enough to allow himself to miss Lance, he wants to talk to him, reassure himself that Lance is okay. Lance probably won’t see the message until the morning, and he’ll probably regret it by then, but...

 

(2:41) hey

(2:42) **hey**

(2:42) **wait arent u working the opening shift in the morning**

(2:43) **why are you still awake**

(2:45) I was asleep...but now not so much

(2:46) **ALIENS???? WAS IT UR ALIENS KEITH??? !!!**

(2:47) nightmare

(2:47) why are they my aliens

(2:48) **Oh man, nightmare**

(2:49) **wanna talk about it?**

(2:54) not really

(2:56) Why are you up so late

(2:56) **finishing a paper ;__;**

(2:57) **technically its not due until midnight tomorrow, but i have class and then I work the closing shift so**

(2:58) **gotta get it done**

(3:01) thats rough

(3:02) **nah just a little 5 page essay nbd**

(3:04) no I meant being in school and workinf full time

(3:04) working**

(3:05) **careful keith it almost sounds like youre impressed**

(3:05) I am impressed

(3:07) I couldnt handle it

(3:12) **so**

(3:12) **this might be pushing my luck but**

(3:12) **arent u really mad at me**

(3:12) **Im glad you texted me tho**

(3:18) **keith?**

(3:18) sorry red bit my foot and I dropped the phone under my bed

(3:18) **red!**

(3:19) well I did kick her

(3:19) accidentally

(3:20) **oh, understandable then**

(3:20) I’m not mad

(3:21) just

(3:22) seeing my friend beat up

(3:22) made me really upset

(3:23) **we’re friends? so you freaked out that I got into a fight because we are friends?**

(3:23) yes?

(3:25) i thought we were anyways

(3:25) **well keith, pal of mine, dont you worry for a second longer**

(3:26) **it takes more than a fist fight to mar this beauty**

(3:26) **AND you know the ~ladies~ love a more rugged look ;-)**

(3:27) im glad youre ok Lance

(3:28) **I am A-OK**

(3:29) **never better**

(3:29) **but….i should probably go back to this paper now**

(3:30) yeah

(3:31) thanks

(3:32) **no prob? what did i do**

(3:32) for talking to me. I feel better now

(3:33) **anytime bro**

(3:33) **glad i oculd help**

(3:34) **night keith**

(3:34) goodnight lance

 

\---

 

Lance doesn’t so much _walk_ into the kitchen the next morning as he does _drag_ himself in, his lion slippers scuffing along the floor.

 

Hunk is there, of course, chopping up a bell pepper and onion-- meal prep for stir-fry tonight-- while listening to a science-news podcast. He listens to all kinds of them, some more goofy than others, but this one definitely falls on the more complex side of the geekery-spectrum. It tends to give his roommate a headache. He pauses it as Lance comes into the kitchen.

 

“Uh, Lance, why do you have wonton wrappers stuck to your face?”

 

“Huh? Hunk, this is pre-caffeine Lance speaking. It’s too early for riddles.” Lance is cranky as he pulls the largest coffee mug available out of the cabinet.

 

“The little, miniature hammocks, under your eyes?”

 

“These are eye masks. For dark circles. And puffiness.” Lance responds, as though this is incredibly obvious.

 

“Ah,” Hunk nods knowingly. “The paper took longer than you thought, then?”

 

Lance sips his coffee, feels life start to once again stir within him. “No. actually.” He sighs. “I finished it around two….but then Keith texted me.”

 

“Woah, what?” Hunk turns to look at him. “Wait, shouldn’t that be a good thing? What’s wrong.”

 

Lance looks at his friend, tries to smile. His lips are a little too wobbly for it to be convincing.  He feels his throat start to get watery again. “It’s stupid but….I don’t think I can do this anymore, Hunk. He just….doesn’t like me in the way that I like him….” He shrugs, ignoring that his vision is going blurry, trying to sound casual. “There’s nothing I can do to change that.”

 

“Oh Lance.” Hunk gathers him into a spine-crushing hug. “I’m so sorry. It’s not stupid. It sucks. It really sucks.”

 

Lance laughs, tinny and artificial. “I mean, what’s not to like, right?”

 

Hunk squeezes his face with both hands. “Literally nothing. Lance. Literally nothing.”

 

“You smell all onion-y,” Lance dislodges himself from Hunk’s vice-grip. He sniffles. Hunk hands him a napkin.

 

“If you want,” Hunk starts slowly, “I can talk to Coran about getting you transferred to another store? You’re a good tech with over a year of experience. Pretty much any store in the area would be stoked to have you.”

 

“No...I don’t want that.” It doesn’t take a genius to realize that Keith doesn’t have very many people in his life he trusts enough to call friends. If Lance is on that short list, he can’t just abandon him. Even if it hurts. Downcast, he continues,“That would be too harsh.”

 

“Harsh for Keith?” Lance nods. “You’re a good friend, Lance. Big heart.”

 

“Yep. Good friend. Great friend. Excellent friend. The biggest heart!” Lance claps his hands. “Okay, that’s enough sad for today. This friend needs to get ready for class.”

 

\---

 

Determined to live up to his new status as ‘good friend,’ Lance continues without so much as a blip in his indefatigable cheerfulness at work. He resumes flirting with every attractive, of-age human that walks in the door, much to the chagrin of his team. Constant mooning over Allura is a given.

 

He still brings coffee, at least once a week. Keith never has told him a different order so they drink the same kind on those days. Lance ignores the fact that he never sees Keith throw the cups he brings him away.

 

He ignores that Keith seems to only grow more attractive, all slim wrists and pale skin, and lean build, lips that quirk up when he’s amused, and a brow that furrows in concentration when the store gets busy, solemn eyes that flare up as they bicker to pass the time during slower shifts.

 

He ignores that Keith never closes the distance he keeps between them. They get along at work, Wednesday night dinners, they joke, they fight, they even text occasionally….but Keith never pushes for more. Lance reminds himself, t _hat’s because he doesn’t want more, they’re good together, let it be._ He ignores the needling idea, that _they’re good like this but they could be better._

 

He still gestures too loudly, chats up the regulars like they’re family, simpers at irritating customers, sings along with the terrible overhead music that the store plays,

 

“Oh I swear, WELL HE MEANS, at this mooooooment. You mean everythinggggg” waggling his eyebrows at Keith, “With you in that dress, my thoughts, I confess, verge on diiiiiiiirty.”

 

And when his heart jumps as Keith bites back a laugh, well, he ignores that too.

 

\----

 

Text from Shiro:

(2:09) _You’re not scheduled until 4:30 but can you come in early? We could use the help._

 

Keith grumbles. He closed last night with Lance, got home late, and then was unable to sleep. He hasn’t left his bed yet, and going back to work is the last thing he wants to do. He texts Shiro back, “Sure. On my way in 10.”

 

Lately, Lance has been…..not the same.

 

Keith doubts himself, _you barely know him_ , _why do you think you can decide if he’s the same or not_? But he also blames himself. He gets jealous and irritable seeing him flirt with other people, had nightmares about him being hurt, texted him in the middle of the night, practically throwing himself at him….anybody would be weirded out. Lance probably just wanted to make sure there was a normal amount of distance between them. He doesn’t need clingy feelings from a random co-worker. So he tries not to get his hopes up, tells himself that when Lance seems to be smiling just for him, it’s not true. This is how he is with everyone.

 

He pulls up in the parking lot, shoving his riding gloves into his pockets as he walks through the automatic glass doors and heads for the breakroom to deposit his helmet. Another day….

 

**“Happy One Year, Keith!!!!”**

 

Shouts a red and blue banner hanging over the table in the normally drab breakroom. Keith blinks. What?

 

The table is covered in food, everyone must have brought something. “Guys, he’s here!” he hears Hunk shout into the pharmacy. The door to the breakroom opens and everyone piles in.

 

“Congratulations, buddy!” Hunk squeezes him.

 

“You made it through one year at this dumpster fire,” Pidge pats him on the shoulder before grabbing a cupcake from one of the plastic containers on the table.

 

Allura hugs him too, soft waves of hair and her expensive, subtle perfume enveloping him. “You’ve become a wonderful asset to the team, Keith. Truly glad we have you.”

 

Keith blinks back tears, trying to find his voice. He turns towards Shiro who’s beaming at him. “Shiro... thank you…”

 

Shiro puts up both hands. “Nope. I had nothing to do with this. My only role was to text you to come in early. Everything else was all Lance.”

 

Lance appears to be very interested in a mysterious spot on the carpet. “I figured this was important to you. You know, because of that message on the mirror in your bathroom? Wanted to help you celebrate.” He looks up at Keith, his voice a little off. “Hope it was alright.”

 

Alright? If it was alright?

 

“Come with me,” Keith says gruffly, grabbing Lance by the wrist, pulling him out of the breakroom.

 

(“Finally! Make it good!” Pidge shouts after them, before Shiro shushes them, pulling the door closed)

 

He pulls Lance into the aisle. Right there, between the cough syrups and nasal sprays, while the Thompson Twins warble overhead, he tightens his grip on one of Lance’s biceps and kisses him, soft and sweet. It's chaste, but not hesitant. Keith wants it to say everything he can't: _I want this, I've wanted this...._

 

Keith moves to deepen the kiss, pausing just for moment, but stops entirely as he sees Lance hastily brush at the corners of his eyes. He starts to say something, but Lance shakes his head.

 

“No. It’s okay, I’m just really…” Lance shakes his head again. “Liked you for so long,” he says. “And then I messed everything up and you were so mad at me! I thought I blew it. I gave up. But I got another shot, and you’re so perfect...right now….just don’t want to mess this up.”

 

Keith frowns, “I’m far from perfect,” he corrects. “Lance, you..”

 

“No, Keith, let me say it properly.” He takes a deep breath.

 

“I like how your nails are always trimmed and look really clean,” he blurts. Keith, understandably, purses his lips, confused.  Lance continues: 

 

“And, even though a mullet is a terrible hairstyle that should only exist in 80s movies, it looks great on you.”

 

“Lance, um,” Keith starts.

 

“Keith,” Lance says and it sounds so desperate that whatever Keith was planning to say is lost. “Please. I’m not...I’m not finished yet, okay?”

 

Keith nods, a smile starting to form on his face, one eyebrow quirks up and he motions for Lance to continue.

 

“I like how when you work you sort of, hum along to the music, like under your breath. And, I’m mad because I can’t decide which I like better-- your wrinkly dress shirts or leather jacket--  because you look too damn hot in both.

 

“I like that you called me out when we played Bullshit the first time you came over for Wednesday night dinners. I like that you call me out on my bullshit in general. I like that you pretend to be annoyed by my awesome pick-up lines even though you totally think they’re funny,”

 

(Keith laughs)

 

“I like that you have a dimple when you laugh,

 

(at this, Keith reaches and touches his cheek, and Lance wants to stop everything and resuming  kissing him right then and there but this is _important_ , and so he barrels onwards)

 

“I like that even though you’re so awkward it’s cute, you still meshed with our team so well….I can’t imagine being at work without you.”

 

His voice quiets and he pulls Keith a little closer.

 

“Actually,” Lance runs a thumb across his cheek, “I can’t imagine being without you, period.

 

“I liked that you came to check on me. I liked that you texted me, even though you were mad. I like that you care if I get hurt,” Lance half smiles, eyes downward.

 

“Of course I care.”

 

Lance raises his eyes to meet Keith’s. His brow is furrowed as he repeats. “Of course I care.”

 

“Keith, I’m a colossal idiot. I should’ve,”

 

Keith cuts him off, impatient. “Then, I like a colossal idiot.” Lance’s worried expression breaks; Keith never sees the resulting grin but he _feels_ it, as he pulls Lance down ever so slightly into a  second kiss.

 

One hand lightly cups Lance’s face at the jaw, just under his ears. Keith never realized that Lance’s hair was the perfect length to run his fingers through until just now, and so he does, tugging slightly. Lance’s mouth parts in response and the kiss deepens.

 

When Keith breaks the kiss, he keeps his forehead resting on Lance’s. One of his hands slides down to rest on his shoulder, thumb running gently over his collarbone. They’re both smiling now.

 

He can feel Lance’s fingers wiggle slightly over his lower back as Lance lets out a stuttering breath against his face.

 

“I should’ve told you this two months ago.” Lance pulls him into a hug. “Is what I was gonna say, before you interrupted me, Mulletman.”

 

Keith counters, “I should’ve told you when I saw that black eye and I wanted to kill whoever hurt you.”

 

“I should’ve told you when I saw your bedhead after sleeping on your couch.”

 

“I should’ve told you when you hopped off my bike and looked like I gave you the world.”

 

“I should’ve told you the first time you came to my apartment, looking like you wanted to do nothing but bolt out the door.”

 

“That long?” Keith asks.

 

“Longer.”

 

Keith shakes his head, disbelieving. He hugs Lance tightly, feels like even if he never let go it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the lost time.

 

\---

 

“Keith and Lance from the pharmacy, please return to the breakroom,” Hunks voice intones over the store’s speakers.

 

“REALLY, Hunk, really?” Lance props open the door, Keith close behind.

 

“Hey, if you didn’t come back now, all the food’s gonna be gone. It’s Keith’s party, he deserves to eat some of the food.” Hunk shrugs.

 

“Oh, speaking of food,” Pidge motions with the hand not holding a soda, “I think Keith should pick what we have for Wednesday night dinner this week.”

 

“Oooooh, good idea!” Hunk’s eyes get glassy. “Okay Keith, what’s the best meal you ever had, I’ll try to recreate it…”

 

“Probably the first time I ate with you guys,” Keith starts, but stops as Lance starts sniffling again…

 

“Stop being such a crybaby all the time, Lance,” Pidge smacks him with a box of tissues. “Keith that doesn’t count, something from your childhood or something, not what we’ve already had.”

 

Keith shifts from one foot to the other. His childhood was not very good meal centered…he purses his lips. “Blueberry pancakes…? But that’s breakfast…”

 

"BRINNNNNNNERRRR" Lance yodels (emotions are high). "This week it'll be Wednesday Night Brinner!!"

 

Keith questions: "Brinner?" 

 

"Breakfast for dinner, obvs." 

 

“Ah! YES! Ohmigosh that sounds so good, I think I even have a recipe I’ve been meaning to try for blueberry compote that would be perfect!” Hunk is already selecting appropriate side dishes from his mental recipe box. 

 

Pidge draws themselves up to their full height. “We will accept it, young one,” they declare, then proceed to poke Keith and Lance in the chests. “But, there’s a new rule for Wednesday night dinners: absolutely zero kissing,”

 

Keith goes red, but Lance starts to make kissing noises in Pidge’s general direction,

 

“What if it’s you I’m smooching, Pidgey,” he chases them around the extremely small break room.

 

Shiro ducks his head in, to let them know it’s time to get back to work, unfortunately. “Looks like everything went well…?” he looks questioningly at Keith.

 

Keith nods. “You could say that." He breaks into a smile and heads into the pharmacy to clock in. 

 

\----

 

Two days later, Keith dog-ears the page of the novel he’s rereading, guiltily dislodges Red from his lap, and jogs towards the door. Maintenance, maybe? He’s not expecting anyone. It’s a rare day off and he intended to spend it relaxing, maybe tidying up, or buying some groceries. It feels like a luxury.

 

He opens the door, and finds Lance. A very flustered Lance.

 

“Uhh, so you told me, once, that I could have come to you. But, maybe now’s not a good time...shoulda texted first….um. I brought,” he lifts up the plastic bag he’s holding, but never gets a chance to finish as Keith pulls him inside, shuts the door.

 

This kiss is worlds away from soft rock hits of years past and remedies for the common cold, it's hungry, desperate to make up for lost time, wasted opportunities. Keith pushes him against the door, open mouthed and sloppy. The bag slips out of Lance’s grip, forgotten, as Keith’s rough hands move under his shirt. He gasps softly, excuses forgotten and reciprocates, squeezing Keith’s ass, pulling their hips flush together, hiking one thigh up into a straddle. Keith responds by getting just a little more toothy, biting into Lance’s open mouth, his bottom lip, before moving to his jawline, still clinging to him, hot and heavy against the wall.

 

“Can’t keep your hands off the goods, huh, s-sweetheart?” Lance tries, but the stammer betrays any residual suaveness he might have had. Keith snorts, and shakes his head, deciding to play along,

 

“I think we’ve both kept our hands to ourselves for long enough, _sweetheart_.”

 

Lance nods meekly, his voice cracking, “Well, then…”

 

“Bed,” Keith instructs, finishing up the last of the buttons on Lance’s shirt, tugging it off, _how’d that happen_ , Lance doesn’t even have time to think as he stumbles behind Keith into his room.

 

His pants are not far behind. “Keith…” Lance starts, not intending for it to come out as whine.

 

“I want to,” Keith tells him, with heavy lidded eyes, situating himself between Lance’s legs on the bed. He kisses into Lance’s tummy, just below his belly button. His hands squeeze Lance at the hips, trail down the back of his thighs, drawing his legs further apart.

 

“Okay?” he confirms, nibbling at his inner thigh. His eyes flick upwards to catch the bob of Lance’s adam’s apple as he gulps out a nod. Keith inhales and takes him into his mouth.

 

“Keeiith,” Lance whimpers, drawing out his name as his fingers spasm, tangled in Keith’s hair. As he gets closer, he gets less and less coherent, thoughts spilling out, “Keith, feels so good, you’re so pretty, so good for me, gorgeous, want you to feel this good, hnng, feel good, t-too, Keith, g-gonna…”

 

He pulls him off, finishes against his shoulder before collapsing into Keith. One hand stays in his hair, mindlessly rolling a lock back and forth between his fingers. With the other, he swipes a thumb over Keith’s open, wet mouth, cleaning up the trail of drool on his chin. “Why’re you so…” he breathes.

 

He fails to complete the thought as Keith trembles beneath him, still achingly hard. “Tell me,” Lance palms him through his boxers, _why are these still on_ , “Tell me what you like.”

 

Lance probably meant it to sound like a raunchy line, but it falls so earnest from his mouth that Keith can’t help but meet his bright eyes, pupils wide and searching, and pull him into a kiss, guileless and direct. He breaks it off, leaning across his bed to pull out a bottle from his bedside table.

 

Once retrieved, he shimmies out of his boxers and crawls back onto the bed, straddling Lance. One of Lance’s arms snakes around his waist, supporting him lightly at the small of his back. Keith snaps open the bottle with one hand, the other finds Lance’s. He kisses his knuckles first, then the pads of his finger, then pushes his index and middle finger past his lips, sucking. Lance pants as Keith pulls them out again, and coats them in lube instead.

 

He relaxes against Lance’s chest, arranging his slick fingers against his entrance. “Like that..” he says thickly. His eyes flutter shut and he groans almost inaudibly as Lance pushes inside.

 

Keith is mostly quiet as he comes undone, just hissing intakes of breath, shaking exhales. He finds friction against Lance’s stomach, trailing wet across the subtle slope of his abs. Lance is hard again too, so Keith clumsily wraps a hand around them both, even as he instinctively tries to push back further on Lance’s fingers.

 

“Lance,” he bites out, coming. Lance follows, nearly simultaneous.

 

Dazed, Keith stays like that for a moment, hot-sticky against Lance, breathing heavy. Lance removes his fingers, tenderly brushing up and down his lower back with his other hand. When he can feel his legs again, Keith grabs a tee shirt, swipes against their stomachs, pulls Lance’s fingers through it, cleaning them up. He settles Lance against the pillow, and then himself once again against his chest, snuggling a blanket around them. The smell of Lance surrounding him, legs intertwined, Keith listens to the drum of his heartbeat, quick and pounding. He closes his eyes.

 

They fit together. Being with Lance is just comfortable like nothing else, and Keith is overwhelmed by how good that feels. “Love you,” he mumbles into his sternum, nuzzling even closer.

 

Lance shudders underneath him. Keith peels his cheek away from his chest.

 

“Okay, you can’t just,” Lance’s voice is breaking as he waves one hand out, “you can’t just pull me in here, and be so! And then! I mean, you can’t just drop that on a guy, Keith, like,”

 

“But, it’s true?” Keith tilts his head and looks at Lance. His hair is mussed and his checks are still flushed and his lips are turned down in disagreement. Lance thinks back to the first time he saw Keith and how he thought he was gorgeous. He didn’t know _shit_ about gorgeous.

 

Lance sighs. “Is everyday with you gonna be like this, because I might not survive.” He slings an arm over his eyes melodramatically.

 

“I hope so.”

 

Lance kisses the top of his head. “Okay, but babe, we have _got_ to do something about your decor though, I feel like Fox Mulder is about to bust in on us any second.”

 

“Excuse me? Lance, you _literally_ have posters of swimsuit models pinned up in your room, it makes me feel like I am on the set of a bad teen movie…”

 

Lance sputters

 

“....and your room is the room of the guy who ends up on the losing end of the love triangle.”

 

“You insult my home, you insult my girls, you insult me….”

 

Keith laughs. Head tilted back, eyes crinkled, the dweeby kind of laugh that turns into a shoulder shaking silent tears kind of laugh. The best. Lance laughs too and gathers him closer.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve ever had the misfortune to work in an environment in which one of the fifty songs they play on a loop includes “hold me now” by the thompson twins, then we are the same. Feel free to visit me on twitter: @jacqulinetan. I would be thrilled. I’m not too loud in my tweets, but know that for every klance I RT, the obsession grows stronger. As always, thank you so much for reading.


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